A New Start
by tiamaria3437
Summary: This is my first fanfic; I would appreciate any feedback you might have. This will become a series as the season develops. For now, it's just a start jumping off from the end of 9.01.
1. Chapter 1

Callie closed the door and slumped against its frame. She had spent three weeks working up the nerve to dare her tough-love routine and it had failed. Miserably. Every day she flip-flopped between feeling overwhelming guilt and violent anger. She may have been responsible for Arizona's loss, but she was fucking trying to save her life. She knew she was supposed to be patient. But everyone has their limits. Callie was close to hers, if she hadn't already crossed it 45 seconds before.

She went back to the kitchen to pour herself another cup of coffee. She had been on the couch for the four weeks since Arizona arrived home. Arizona refused to share the bed with her. Out of anger, or embarrassment, or both, Callie was not sure. So the nights were mostly sleepless, and coffee had become a daily crutch.

Crutch, she thought to herself. She shouldn't use that word. Arizona's forearm crutches leaned against the bedroom wall, untouched. She refused to do the work she needed to do to build upper-body strength to be able to support herself between the crutches and her right leg. She was consigned to the chair, when she even was willing to leave the bed at all. If it weren't for the fact that the catheter and colostomy bag had not come home with her, Callie was sure she would have refused to leave the bed, too.

She gulped the coffee, it almost burning her esophagus. The nurse-turned-nanny would be there in ten minutes to watch Sofia and tend to Arizona. Callie wiped at her face. Tears had fallen without her realizing it. Such were the times. She checked herself in the mirror. Bags under her eyes, which were swollen red. She looked awful. It was a good thing that Arizona had barely looked at her in weeks.

Callie braved entering the bedroom one more time, checking to see if Arizona needed anything before she left for work. As much as Arizona hated for Callie to touch her, she seemed to hate it more when she had to ask for help from the nanny during the day. The nanny usually reported that Arizona had not made a sound all day.

"Rosa will be here in a few minutes," Callie announced as she stuck her head back into their bedroom to address Arizona's slumping figure, curled into the bed with her back to the door. "Do you need . . . ?" She couldn't finish; it felt patronizing to ask her strong-willed, beautiful wife whether she needed help getting out of bed to go to the bathroom.

"Yes," Arizona replied, barely above a whisper.

Callie came into the room to face Arizona on the far side of the bed. Arizona did not look up. Callie reached for the black wheelchair to the right of the nightstand, to pull it closer to the bed for Arizona to help Arizona slide into it. "No," Arizona said, "just help me."

She pulled back the covers slowly, revealing the stump, and she leaned up in bed, pivoting herself to the edge of the bed and sliding her good leg off the bed. Callie gulped and couldn't help looking away, briefly. It hurt every time she saw what remained of Arizona's left leg. She had performed dozens of amputations, and at least 10 above-the-knee procedures like the one Arizona had. She was not a gawker. It never made her uncomfortable or squirm or awkward before. But that was Arizona's stump. That was Arizona's jagged scar and missing part. And seeing it flooded her with nausea and guilt. So she had to look way to steel herself, to allow the doctor part of her brain to take control.

Callie understood the command to mean that Arizona wanted to stand. Arizona had little strength to stand, but Callie sensed this was important to her for some reason. She stooped over and moved to Arizona's left side to allow her to slide her arm around Callie's shoulder to support her left side as she slowly put her weight on her right leg to stand. They would have to take two hop steps to get Arizona close enough to the chair. As they did, Callie observed the pain flood Arizona's face. She had no strength at all in her right leg anymore and just standing required a great deal of energy and inflicted even more pain as her muscles ached under the strain. Her stump swung a little bit loosely at her side, touching Callie's leg. Callie stooped again to lower Arizona into the chair. They did this wordlessly.

Callie felt something shift in the room. She looked down before turning to push Arizona to the bathroom. Arizona's blue eyes met hers, brimming with tears. Callie stopped moving.

Arizona grabbed for Callie's hand and pulled, bringing Callie to kneel at the chair, nearly eye-level with her wife. Arizona was still holding her left hand. They still did not speak. Callie held her breath.

Arizona took Callie's hand and placed it on what remained of her left thigh, slowly moving her hand to the knobby, grotesque end of her leg, where a scar was still plainly visible and still healing. Callie had not touched Arizona's leg since it had been removed. That had been Arizona's choice. She had tried and had been slapped away. Callie had no idea what was about to come. Callie wasn't sure whether they were about to begin the long road toward recovery and reconnection in this moment or whether she should be preparing herself for more barbs. She maintained her wife's stare. A tear dripped down Arizona's cheek as she held Callie's gaze. Both of their faces were nearly expressionless.

Arizona held Callie's hand cupping what remained of her left leg. "Will it ever be okay?" she asked her wife. Her voice so small and soft that Callie thought a child had asked the question.

"I don't know," Callie said. It was an honest answer. She didn't know. As a doctor she knew that Arizona could eventually recover some semblance of normalcy. Once her stump healed enough to bear the pressure of a prosthetic device, she could be fitted with one that would allow her maximum mobility. She could return to work and would be able to perform most of her responsibilities as a pediatric surgeon. But physical therapy and learning to walk again would be grueling. And using the prosthesis would be very painful at times. Her leg would swell too much sometimes to fit the device and she would have to use a chair or crutches. She would get blisters that would make it excruciating to take a step. She would have to find a way to live with pain that no one should have to endure on a daily basis. And that was just the physical part of being "okay."

As a wife, she did not know how they would recover. Arizona's anger was so overwhelming, and Callie's guilt so paralyzing, that it felt like the relationship was suffocating. But she knew she loved Arizona more than she loved anything else in the world. And so some part of her still had hope—as crazy as that seemed most days—hope that maybe they would find a way to make it be okay. A way to build something new out of all that had been destroyed and lost.

"What would you tell me if I was your patient?" Arizona asked.

"I would say that you may never be the same but that you can be okay," Callie answered. "I would say that I have seen people do amazing things to heal their bodies and themselves and learn to rebuild their lives after great trauma. I would say learning to walk again will be the hardest thing you may ever have to do."

"I don't know if I want to do this," Arizona answered. "What does that mean?" Callie asked, anxiety building in her voice. "I don't know," Arizona said. "I just—some part of me—I just don't care if I ever leave this room again."

Callie looked down, breathed in deeply, sharply. She knew this was important, that Arizona was reaching out and being more vulnerable than she had been in months. But the defeat in her voice ripped at Callie, made her furious. Why didn't Arizona want to live for her? For Sofia? She only lost her leg, damnit. She hadn't lost her mind or her hands, and she could do almost all the things she used to do one day soon, after a lot of hard work that she seemed unwilling to do.

"I know. I know that's how it is right now. I don't know what to do, how to make you see that there are things worth leaving this room for, worth fighting to get stronger for. It won't ever be the same again, but that doesn't mean it will always be this bad."

"I just don't think I can forgive you," Arizona said, breaking the stare and dropping Callie's hand to reach for the chair's wheels. Conversation was done. For now, Callie hoped.


	2. Chapter 2

The light crept across the bed, cutting at sharp angles as it is filtered through the blinds. Another morning. Morning 103 after the crash. It was just another morning here.

Arizona blinked her eyes in the light. The light was harsh on her eyelids. On her back, she instinctively turned to her left side to greet Callie. But there was no Callie. There had not been a Callie for 103 mornings. Instead, her move to the left brought a fresh reminder of what was missing: her left leg. As she flipped sides, the stump protruded into the flesh of her right leg, and she grimaced at the sensation. The wound was healing still, and the pressure of weight on the stump hurt.

She shifted to her back, moving her left leg onto the pillow she kept low in the bed to elevate her leg as her doctor directed. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Another day, and everything was the same. The same dull ache inside of her, and the same gnawing blackness that surrounded her. She couldn't shake it. Arizona knew she was being selfish, but she didn't care. She was just so tired of losing. Losing everything. She was afraid to face the day. Afraid to get out of bed. Would people stare? Would they think she was hideous, disfigured? Would Callie still love her? Would she ever be able to find meaning in the world if she couldn't do the things she treasured doing most? Nothing would ever be the same. She knew it and she hated it. She felt the emptiness of where her leg used to be and she just ached.

Arizona heard rustling in the kitchen. She could hear Callie's voice, muffled by the closed bedroom door. It sounded like she was saying something to Sofia, but she couldn't quite make out the words. Sofia. Arizona had hidden herself from Sofia in the apartment. She just wasn't ready to face her daughter. She wasn't ready for her to stare or point or look concerned. She wasn't ready for the helpless feeling that would come over her when her daughter squirmed away, out of reach, and Arizona feared she wouldn't be able to keep her safe.

So she stayed locked behind her bedroom door, sealed off from the rest of the world. Sealed off from Callie, and Alex, and anyone else who gave a damn. It was selfish, she knew. But she was just so tired of being strong for everyone else. Nothing would ever be the same. That was all that mattered to Arizona.

She had to pee, though, which presented a problem. Because she'd refused to attend physical therapy, Arizona also had refused to develop her upper body strength to help her gain mobility on crutches. Her balance was terrible and each hop step between the crutches terrified her. She feared crashing to the ground and breaking her only leg. She would be no use at all then.

But she had to pee. It was only seven crutch-steps to the bathroom, she knew. She didn't want to wait for Callie to come in and ask her if she needed anything before she left for work. She hated the patronizing tone—the reminder that she was an invalid, completely dependent on someone else to make sure she could take care of herself.

So Arizona determined to do it herself. She pulled the covers off, exposing her stump to the world that was the bedroom. She stared. She couldn't help it. It felt like a foreign object attached to her. Arizona swore she could still feel her leg, feel the pain of the broken femur piercing the skin, but when she looked she saw nothing but pale skin stretched and formed into a round nub just above where her knee was supposed to be. It was cold to the touch, the stump was. She was supposed to keep a stocking over the stump while it continued to heal to keep the blood circulation strong and to shape the end into a prosthetic friendly-state. But she refused to get that close to her injury, to touch it, to deal with it in such a thoughtful way. Callie had tried to put it on her one night. She had violently pushed her away, an act she regretted but for which she had not offered an apology.

Arizona set up in bed. It wasn't hard. Her at-home hospital bed was at an angle to make that easier to do. She pushed herself closer to the edge of the bed. With her good leg touching the ground, her bare foot hitting the wood floor, she leaned to the left to grab the two forearm crutches leaning against the night stand, three feet away from the wheelchair that sat in the corner. She really didn't like the chair. She spent most of her days staring at it in disgust—a reminder that there was no good reason to get out of bed. She couldn't go hardly anywhere without that chair, and she hated that.

Callie had told her countless times—until Arizona exploded at her one night—that she could soon be nearly every bit as mobile and active as she was before the crash. In some ways, Callie said it was better that they had amputated her leg because, otherwise, she may have been left with residual pain and nerve damage that impaired her more substantially than would be the case once she was fitted with a state-of-the-art prosthesis. She could even compete in an Ironman competition, Callie proclaimed. When Arizona arrived home from the hospital, an article about some one-legged chick who ran marathons and was training for an Ironman was neatly arranged on the bed-side table. "See," Callie had said when Arizona's eyes glanced at the picture and the headline. "It will just take time."

Arizona had responded by throwing the magazine in Callie's direction. She wasn't ready for anyone else's inspirational story of perseverance in the face of challenge. She just wanted her fucking leg back. She wanted Callie to make good on her promise, that she would do something, that she wouldn't let Arizona end up like this.

She took one crutch in each hand, and grasping tightly, and lunged upward on her good leg. She wobbled and teetered, unable to steady herself, and, in a panic to gain her balance, she fumbled with the crutches, hitting one against the bedside nightstand. A water glass on the edge of the nightstand came crashing down, and within seconds Callie appeared at the doorway calling out Arizona's name frantically.

"Arizona?! Are you—" Callie asked as the bedroom door flew open. The sight—Arizona standing on her own, supported by the crutches that she'd been refusing to use—stopped Callie mid-sentence. She trailed off, not wanting to embarrass Arizona or call attention to the commotion. She darted her eyes down, as if looking at Arizona in this moment of vulnerability was forbidden. She also stopped herself halfway through the bedroom, in mid-step as she made a bee-line to Arizona's side. Arizona was okay. She needed to do this, and she needed Callie not to hover like a worried parent.

"I'm fine," Arizona said impatiently. "The crip is just going to the bathroom," she added for a measure of self-loathing. "I think I can manage to pee all by myself."

Callie sighed, and stepped back towards the door, stung by Arizona's words. She was about to retreat back to the kitchen to honor Arizona's wishes when she heard her daughter's voice behind her calling out gleefully, "Mama!" Sofia had spotted Arizona and was quickly bumbling in her direction, as fast as the toddler's chubby little legs could carry her. Callie bent over to sweep her daughter into her arms to avoid a disastrous reunion—it was clear that Arizona was not in great mood, again, today—but she was too late. The bouncing brunette was inches out of her reach and hurtling towards Arizona.

She wrapped herself securely around Arizona's right leg, as if she had found her long-lost best friend and was now holding on for dear life. It all happened too quickly for Arizona to finish her admonition. "Sofi—," she began, but then stopped as the impact of her daughter's embrace knocked her off course, and off balance, again. In more ways than one.

Callie rushed to Arizona's side as she saw the blonde's body begin to sway toward her weak side. One hand grabbing at her right arm, Callie pulled Arizona into an embrace to support her weight. She expected Arizona to yell and push her away but Arizona did not resist. She didn't lean into the embrace either, but she didn't pull away.

"Hey there, baby girl," Arizona whispered, softer than Callie expected. She let go of her grip on the crutch and ran a hand through Sofia's hear with an unexpected tenderness. She started to sink back into the bed and Callie came with her. "Mama," their daughter said earnestly as she came face-to-face with the stump, which was at the toddler's eye level. She reached a hand out to touch it with curiosity. Her little fingers ran along the jagged scar that had been left behind.

"Sofia, no, you can't—," Callie instinctively reached over to interrupt the moment, fearing that Arizona would explode at their daughter much the way she had exploded when Callie had tried to touch her left leg the first time. But Arizona stopped her. "No, it's okay. Let her touch," she said softly. Arizona's capacity to treat children with dignity and compassion knew no limits, even in her current state. Why hadn't she forced Sofia on Arizona sooner, Callie thought, if this was the antidote to Arizona's self-destruction?

"Sof, Mama was in accident and I hurt my leg. It got all infected and gross because we had to wait awhile for your Mommy and the other doctors to find us. And they had to—they had to—to cut it off so that I could come home and be with you and get better," Arizona explained to Sofia as she continued to touch and poke with her fingers.

"Hurt?" She asked, looking to Arizona with such compassion and honesty that it nearly broke Arizona's heart.

"It did. It hurt a lot. But I am getting better," Arizona answered as she reached for Callie's hand. This time she looked at Callie. "I am going to get better," she told her wife. Callie looked back with the warmest smile she had shown anyone in months, as happy, grateful tears filled her eyes. "Yes, yes, you will," she told Arizona.


End file.
